Falling Into Place
by Keryl Raist
Summary: The explosion ripped a lot of what was normal, what was the fairly comfortable life they'd been feeling their way through, apart. This is the story of putting that back together again. McDee. (Originally several short stand alones, but they're working better as one story.)
1. Am I Still

"I should probably head off," Tim said, standing up as the closing credits to Frozen rolled.

"Tim."

"Mmm…" He was looking around for his jacket. He thought he'd draped it over the arm of Delilah's couch, but it wasn't there.

"Am I still your girlfriend?" Delilah asked, sounding impatient and angry, with a whole lot of nervous and vulnerable under it.

That got his attention. His head snapped back towards her, and the coat was completely forgotten as he stood there and stammered though, "What? Yes. Of course… What… Why would you… What?"

"Look, I know you told me you don't really like public displays of affection. I get that." That sharp edge is there, the shield she uses to seem cooler than she actually is. The one that comes out around Tony, but not so much, not usually, around him. "But I try to kiss you because you do something nice for me, and you offer me your cheek? Abby kisses your cheek. Your mom kisses your cheek. Penny kisses your cheek."

He's just staring at her, not sure what to say to that. Really, he hadn't expected a kiss. He'd expected her to say something quietly to him.

She saw the confusion on his face. "Come on, say it. I know Gibbs goes non-verbal, but not you, not with me, not now. Talk to me."

He sat down on the sofa next to her. "I didn't think you were going to kiss me. Thought you wanted to talk to me."

"Why wouldn't I kiss you? If your face is an inch away, why wouldn't I kiss it?"

He just stared at her. Not sure to even begin how to put into words why she wouldn't kiss him or why he wouldn't want to, or expect to be, kissed.

"Once upon a time, after the movie, you didn't go sprinting home. In fact, you didn't go home at all. You used to sleep here. And I used to sleep at your place. And some nights we didn't watch the whole movie. Some nights we didn't watch one at all. And there was this thing we used to do, sometimes on the sofa, or the floor, or the bed. You know, that thing you do with a girlfriend, after the movie's over and before you fall asleep with her. Remember that?"

"Yeah," he said, very quietly.

"You haven't touched me since I got out of the hospital."

"I know."

"Why? Am I that repulsive now?"

"God, Delilah, no!" he said, voice cracking on no, hands in fists.

Her eyes are tearing up. "You're still not touching me!"

He stared up at the ceiling, biting his lip, trying to think his way through how to say this, very much not touching her, and she's not touching him, either. Finally he looks back at her. "You are not repulsive. At all. I touch you, your hand, or your shoulder, or smell your hair, or a kiss or a hug, and that thing we used to do, that thing I loved doing with you, I want to do it, a lot." And he smiled at her, tears in his eyes. "But that's kind of beside the point, now, isn't it?"

"Says who?"

"You're paralyzed."

"Yeah, I know. I'm living it every damn second of every damn day. But I'm not dead and-"

"I know you aren't dead. Okay? I lived that moment of feeling for your pulse and not finding it ten seconds. And I lived it again when you crashed in the hospital and they raced you into the OR. I know you aren't dead."

"Well, I'm not just a brain in a chair, either. I have a body. And you do, too. And ignoring that, cutting it off… I miss you. I miss your body. I miss how warm you get in the middle of the night when you steal all the blankets. I miss the way you look at me when you slide into me, and I miss the way you make me feel, and I miss how you look when you get off, and I miss all of it."

He scooted closer to her, pulling her to rest against his chest, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her forehead. "I miss it, too. I miss it so much. But this," and his hand slipped to her thigh, squeezing very gently, "doesn't do anything for you anymore. And if you can't get off, too… What's the point of it?"

"Closeness, intimacy, love, pleasure. Sounds like plenty of point to me. And, yeah, it's never going to be the same. I can't wrap my legs around your back anymore, but that doesn't mean we can't have sex, and it certainly doesn't mean my mouth or hands stopped working. And it definitely doesn't mean any of you stopped working."

His hand traced up her leg. "But you don't feel this. Isn't that going to be horribly frustrating? Wanting but not having. That's why I'm not… wasn't touching you, because the frustration is worse than cold turkey."

"Not being touched is horribly frustrating. You treating me like I'm your buddy is frustrating. Having to learn how to get off all over again is going to be frustrating, too, but one of those things is a frustration I'm interested in experiencing, and the other two are getting more annoying by the day."

"I could hurt you, and we wouldn't know."

"Then we'll be careful. And I don't see how maybe hurting me is any better than both of us hurting and both of us being aware of it."

He stroked her cheek, looking her in the eye. "Okay. So… how does this work?"

"Give me a hand."

And yeah, it was awkward, but after a bit of shuffling around she was straddling his lap, pelvis to pelvis with him, something that used to be one of their favorite positions, and was awfully pleasant right now, too.

"Good?" he asked.

"Yeah. Good. You gonna kiss me like you mean it?"

He cupped his fingers around the back of her neck and did just that.


	2. Research

Given the choice between emotional introspection and dealing with an uncomfortable situation, or ignoring that and researching the hell out of something, Tim McGee will take researching any day.

He will delve deep into the nooks and crannies of the internet, sleuthing through the combined wisdom of the great libraries, he'll even, if the alternative is having to think about his own emotional life, talk to other real, live people about a subject, all in an effort to not have to deal with whatever it is.

And so, he can research disabled sex, or he can deal with what happened last night, and at this rate the ambient temperature of Hell will be roughly -6 centigrade before he will voluntarily allow his brain to actually go through everything churning around under the surface.

Because he can't.

She's alive. He remembers sitting in the hospital, begging God to get her through this alive. Because in that minute when she started crashing, and he could feel his blood drain away and the utter horror of life without her, he knew he wanted her, and that… fear… whatever it was that got him to pick that fight with her burned away, replaced by aching terror of suddenly not having her.

So she's alive, and that's what matters, right?

And she's still there. Her mind and her… Delilah is still here.

And for six other boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, whatever… who made it out that night, that's not true. Then went home to an empty apartment and made plans for what sort of box to buy and what kind of flowers to put around it.

So… she's alive and her mind is whole, and that's the important part, right? That's the get down on your knees and give thanks because an inch to the left or an inch to the right and that wouldn't have been true.

And he's not hurt. All of him works just fine because Tony called at exactly the right time. He got out of the blast range, and sure he's still having nightmares about what he saw, let alone those seconds before the EMTs got there and he was doing first aid on her, trying to keep her alive and trying not to look at the blood pouring out of her.

But she's alive, and he wasn't hurt, and that's what matters there, right?

And really, how important is a sex life anyway? She's still beautiful and brilliant and warm and funny and…

But he'll never hear her gasp as he slides into her, knowing that it feels just as damn good to her as it does to him. And she'll never go tight around him when she's close. She won't shiver when he runs his fingernails up her thigh or kisses the inside of her knee. She won't pull his hair and arch up against his mouth when he goes down on her.  
All of that is gone.

And it's not like his sex life died. He's still whole, can still get it up and off. He's just fine, disappointed, but fine, so… So who's he to complain? Especially compared to what she lost.

And it's not like their sex life died… but she can't do any of that, not really. She can only, just, barely feel him inside her, and all of the getting there is gone, and so is getting off, and... It's just…

It's just not the same and… and he can feel the bubble of anger building, wanting to burst out.

So, research.

Research he can and will do.

And if there's a gold star for learning how to be an effective and efficient lover of a woman who has no sensation at all below her thighs and almost no sensation between her hips and thighs, he will win that gold star or die trying, because he can handle research, and right now, he can't handle screaming at the universe about how badly what happened sucks.

* * *

He's not even entirely sure where to start.

He does know the stuff he's finding about paralytic fetishists isn't what he's looking for.

And the huge piles of information about getting and maintaining an erection, let alone ejaculating post-spinal cord injury aren't of any use to him either.

Wheelchair sex looked interesting until he realized that all the positions were for the guy in the wheelchair. Sure, they can work with some of them, but that's the kind of stuff they were figuring out last night.

Narrowing it down to women and spinal cord injuries helped. Adding in L2 and incomplete helped further.

He was finding some things he thought were really encouraging until he realized that by sexual function they meant the ability to get and sustain a pregnancy. And while, yes, that is encouraging, too, (knowing kids aren't entirely out of the picture is good) that's not what he's looking at or for right now.

But, Tim McGee is a master of research, and though it takes him a while, he eventually starts finding useful stuff, reassuring stuff (like the majority of women with a spinal cord injury can experience orgasm), and eventually he found some really useful stuff (the Push Girls), and having found some really useful stuff, and ordered some stuff, and read more stuff, he was starting to come up with a plan.

* * *

"What's the hottest movie out there that isn't porn?" Tim asked Tony three days later when Gibbs and Bishop weren't around.

Research seemed to be indicating that part of sex with a paraplegic was stepping up your mental game. Desire, libido, want, need, those didn't go away. Sensation did. Physiological response to touch did. Which means touch wasn't the end all and be all of sex, which meant setting the mood and keeping it going was more important than ever.

So, set the mood he would.

"Body Heat, why?" Tony said, not even looking up from the report he was filling out.

"Movie night you aren't invited to."

That got Tony to look up and a wide, dirty smile spread across his face. "Breaking out of your comfort zone, McLoveMachine?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Something like that."

"Definitely Body Heat. But the uncut version of 9 ½ Weeks is good, too."

"Are we talking movies again?" Bishop asked as she popped up from nowhere.

"Yep. McLovin's looking for something to help perk things up, if you know what I mean."

If it was possible to kill a person by looking at him, Tony would be on the ground bleeding from every orifice, twitching lightly as his neural synapses shut down one by one.

"Perking things up on your own or with Delilah?" Bishop asked him, all wide eyes and innocent expression.

He finally stopped blushing hard enough to get some blood back to his brain and answered, "Delilah, too," while kicking Tony in the shin. Hard.

"Unless she's got some deeply hidden kinks for guys from the '70s and '80s, Tony's wrong."

"What! Those are erotic classics!" Tony sounded horrified that anyone might besmirch the name of his pet hot movies.

"No, those are _your_ erotic classics. Movies you saw when you were young and hit you hard. Delilah is not now, nor will she ever be, a fifty year old man—"

"I'm not fifty!"

"Close enough," Tim said, liking what Bishop was saying. "What's your suggestion?"

"Nine Songs. Unlike Tony's suggestions it was made after Delilah was born. And it's mad hot."

"He said not porn," Tony said, sounding smug.

"It's not porn!" Bishop sounded insulted that she'd suggest porn.

"Of course it's porn! Good soundtrack doesn't make something not porn."

"It's not porn," Bishop said vehemently without offering any objection as to why it wasn't porn.

"When I worked vice I used to arrest people for stuff that happened in that movie."

That got Tim's attention in a good way, his eyebrows flicked up and he grabbed his phone to make a note of the title. "What's it called again?"

"Nine Songs. It's hot. Really hot."

"It's lame! No plot. Not much dialog. Lots and lots of graphic sex."

"Are you looking for plot, dialog, and '70s pornstache, or do you just want something really, really hot?"

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Gibbs heading toward them, and without slowing down or even breaking stride he pulled a perfect u-turn and headed away. Apparently, they had finally found the conversation he didn't want to drop in on.

* * *

Three hours later, when Bishop and Tony were off getting background on their vic, Gibbs slipped over to his desk, and sat against it.

He did that thing where he just sat there until Tim said, "Boss?"

"Talk to her."

His eyebrows went high. "Uhhh…" He thought they'd been over that, and done that, and… And this was really uncomfortable.

"Skip the movies and talk to her. You're a writer. Tell her a story. She'll like one you make up for her a lot better than anything on a screen."

"Uh. Ummm… Thanks, Boss." If he thought he'd been blushing hard before, that was nothing compared to the amount of blood rushing to suffuse his face right now.

Gibbs nodded and vanished, seeming to understand that right now was not a moment Tim wanted an audience.

* * *

When he headed down to the lab, he expected Abby to hit him with everything, including the kitchen sink, but he'd also asked her for everything, including the kitchen sink.

The good thing about doing this with someone who was once your lover and is now you good friend is that, unlike Gibbs or Tony, he's not going to blush. Abby's seen him naked, knows what he likes, and he knows that about her, too.

So, he's comfortable asking for more help.

And he needs it.

Sure, it's one thing to read about vibrators maybe being useful, it's a whole other thing to actually have a woman who will tell you things like ergonomics and how they feel and how to use them (okay, at least sort of) and stuff like that. (Yes, he intends to take his cues from Delilah, but he'd also like to at least have a clue as to what to do with one.)

She looked up at him as he came down, eyebrow high. "No Caff-Pow?" She's joking about it, and he knows that. Some conversations don't need to happen at work.

"Though we'd go to the Caff-Pow instead of taking it to you."

"Sounds good." She snagged a thumb drive and handed it to him. "Everything you asked for is on there."

"Thanks."

They got clear of the building before she said, "I see Delilah prodded buttock firmly enough to get you moving."

"Did you two talk about this?" It's not a surprise per se, but… Still, he thought of Abby as his friend, and the idea that she and Delilah may be that close felt a bit weird.

"Is it a problem if we did? I mean, we're talking about it, too."

"No. Just… What'd she say?"

"That if you didn't stop treating her like a sister she was going to go insane. Though, given the shopping list you just gave me, I'd say that's not a problem anymore."

Yeah, given what was on that list. He shuddered a bit at the idea of doing any of that with his sister. "What'd you tell her?"

"That if she didn't make a move she was going to go insane because you weren't about to do anything without express permission."

"I guess." They stop at the drink trolley and order their drinks. He hands her the Caff-Pow and pays. It's cold outside, but he'd rather have this conversation out here, where he's got plenty of range of sight and doesn't have to worry about Tony or Palmer or Gibbs suddenly showing up.

"So, how'd it go?" she asked as they sat on a bench.

He rolled his eyes a little and took a sip of his coffee. "A lot like being a virgin again, scared, nervous, afraid you're doing it wrong with a side of she can't feel it unless I'm doing it so hard I would have hurt her before, and even then she still can't really feel it, and now I'm afraid I actually am hurting her but she just can't tell."

"That's the part that's killing you, isn't it?"

"Yeah." She knew just as well as he did that he got off on turning a woman on almost as much as he did on her touching him. And the idea that he might be accidently hurting her… that was worse. "The stuff she does to me feels great. And yeah, going fast and hard feels good too, but… But, God," he shook his head a little, "it feels selfish, too." The expression on his face was somewhere between an uncomfortable smile and a cringe. "You know, it's not supposed to be all about me. I mean…" he stopped, looking really embarrassed.

"Come on, nothing you're gonna say will shock me."

"She comes first. You know, that's basically the rule. That's how you know you get to move to endgame. It's like waiting for a signal that won't come. It's like: Is that long enough? Or this? Is she getting bored? and yeah, kissing and petting and breathy sounds are all good, but I'm getting no feedback from half of her, and… and I just don't have the same map I used to."

Abby nodded at that, understanding it, and took a sip of her Caff-Pow before saying, "It's not just about getting off."

"I know. And that was true before but… I'm good with goals. I like rules and structure and here's what we're doing and how we're going to do it. And yeah, women say it's not just about getting off, but…"

She knew what he wasn't saying. "It's not the same for girls, McGee. There is no equivalent of blue balls for women."

"Yeah, but I also know you guys find it frustrating as hell to not get off. The single most popular topic in every woman's magazine I've ever read is, 'Why can't he find my clit?'"

"It is, that's true. But, look, you were always fine with laying back and letting a woman do you. So, that's the game now, sort of."

His shoulders slumped. "Yeah I am… was fine with it, because I knew I'd get to return the favor."

"Just a different favor, now."

"I _liked_ the old favor."

She caught the bitterness in his voice. "I know, Tim. You talk to anyone about that?"

"About what?"

"About how the rug got yanked out from under your feet, too. And how it's not fair. And how it's your sex-life, too that's all upside down."

"I can't."

"You should. You're allowed to be angry about this."

"No, I'm not." He smiled sadly at her, shaking his head, and she squeezed his hand.

"Yeah, you are. It happened to you, too, Tim."

He closed his eyes, turning his face away from her, and then patted the pocket with the thumb drive on it. "So, you go through the things I sent and…"

"And give you my seal of approval, yeah. Some of them looked good, some didn't, and I wrote up reasons why for all of them."

"Okay."

"List of movies and shows on there, too."

"Okay."

"And, you didn't ask about it, but I added information about what to do with a catheter during sex."

He shook his head. "Fortunately, that's not an issue. She lost all function below her thighs, and about eighty-five percent between her thighs and hips. Her spinal column wasn't entirely severed. Sphincter control wasn't part of what went."

"That's good!" Abby said, sounding encouraging.

"Yeah, it is. Talk about conversations you never expect to have, let alone with your girlfriend, but, yeah, it helps, and not just in a less messy sort of way, but feeling like she's still a real adult sort of way. Bad enough to constantly need help with everything that's more than four feet high, but…"

Abby nodded, she understood. Her buddy, Carol, had a lot of the same issues.

"Gibbs suggested telling her stories."

"You asked Gibbs?" She was giggling at that mental image. "Your head still ringing from the slap?"

"He overheard Tony and Bishop talking about movie options, and more or less sprinted away, but when they were out he suggested telling her stories."

"I'd second that. Those poems always made me feel special," she said with a warm smile.

"Couple miles between those poems and talking dirty."

She remembered how nervous he was about reading those poems. Once he was at the mic he was fine, but getting there was difficult "Well, don't do it out loud if you can't or if it makes you uncomfortable. That's one area where stuttering through it won't be cute. But a sexy little email in the middle of the day would probably go a long way to making her happy, and you could blush all you want and take six hours to write it, but she wouldn't see that part of it. She'd just get all hot and bothered reading it. From everything you sent me, it sounded like desire, making sure she knows she's beautiful and sexy and you want her is a really big part of a functional sex life for a paraplegic."

"Yeah, seems like it's a mind game now. Like now it's seventy-five percent brain and twenty-five percent touch."

She shook her head. "For women it's always seventy-five percent brain."

"Then it's like one hundred and fifty percent brain now," he said after taking another drink of his coffee.

She smiled at him. "Then it's a good thing you're good with brains. There was something else you didn't mention, but… And I don't even know if you're still into it… but, you know, a big part of what she's lost is control, and getting that control back might be something she'd enjoy."

Tim nodded. He knew what she was talking about. Part of the reason the two of them didn't last long term, both of them sub and neither Dom, and while it was something of a game for him, it was a big deal for her.

"You ask her about that?" he asked Abby.

"No!" Her hands rose in a placating gesture. "I didn't know if you'd told her, and if you hadn't…"

"Hadn't come up." He rubbed his face. "Haven't subbed in years."

"No good partner, or just not your thing anymore?"

"Both? Not much fun without the right person."

"Could she be the right person?"

"Maybe…" That bit of him was something he generally kept very deeply buried, and the mechanics of how it might work with Delilah in the chair… He can think about that later. "At least with Fifty Shades out, it won't be like she's never heard of it."

"See, there's an upside to that abysmally lame book."

He shook his head at that.

"I put some movies on the list that might get a conversation along those lines started."

"Thanks."

She wrapped her arms around him. "You two are going to get this figured out."

He let her hold him for a few more seconds and then began to pull away. "We should get back."

"Probably. Tim, really, I know we're all allergic to psychologists, but, really, give Rachel a call. A mountain of stuff got dumped on both of you, and it's not going to get much better if you just stuff it down inside and ignore it."

"I'm good at ignoring it."

"I know. Talk to Rachel. Tell her the things you're afraid to say to Delilah, the things you think you're not allowed to feel or say. Really. Because you know, just as well as I do, that if you don't get it out it's just going to sit there and screw everything else up. And look, you're going to have a hell of a time making love to a woman if you're feeling angry, sad, and guilty. You'll feel it, she will too, and... and you've already got a steep enough climb without adding that on top of it."

He didn't comment, just stood up, and offered her a hand up as well.


	3. Action

Okay, sexy email. He can do this.

And the cursor just sits there, blinking at him.

_Come on!_

Blink, blink, blink…

The fact of the matter is that Tim's never actually written a sex scene, nothing more explicit than 'making love on the crystal sands of her homeland,' and a few passionate kisses.

He has written love poems. And he's sure he will again, but that's not the point of this right now, and… and this close to flipping out over them being too 'close' and needing 'space' means he doesn't want to start whipping out love poetry because he doesn't want her thinking it's just because of the bombing.

So… sexy email. _Come on, you can do this. Just words, on a screen, you're good at words on a screen. People pay you money to put words on a screen._

Blink, blink, blink…

_Okay, so what goes into a sexy email? Obviously not wanna bend you over and get it on._

Because that doesn't work anymore. Not that they ever did that. Though now, as he remembers, fondly, how a few of those skirts of hers would just brush the backs of her thighs, he's thinking he really should have just stepped up close behind her, kissed her ear and neck, and slipped his fingers up those skirts, and gotten it on then and there.

Should have pulled her panties off with his teeth and licked her until her knees buckled and did it again just for kicks before bending her over, beautiful butt in the air, squeezing and petting, listening to her moan as he did it, before slipping into her and savoring the view of his body sliding into hers.

But he didn't. Not like that. And now it's too late.

_That's depressing as hell. Here let's rub some salt into that lemon juice you just poured on that wound, vodka, too, and set fire to it while you're at it._

He rubs his forehead and refocuses, exhaling loudly. So… sexy email. Something they actually can do… Something she can feel, really feel, not just a dull sort of fullness and a vague sense of motion.

_Hi Delilah,_

He deletes that almost before he finishes typing it.

_Hi. Yeah, that's sexy._

_Free write it. Don't think it, just let it out._

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts typing.

_Been thinking about your lips today. About how pink and soft they are. How they're just the right size for your face. _

_Okay, no that's dumb._ He deletes the thing about the size of her lips, and then firmly remindes himself that the point of free writing is to just get it out. He can edit later.

_Been thinking about how they feel against my fingers. How it looks when you kiss my knuckles, or take them into your mouth. How it feels, all soft and wet around them, the light press of your tongue, and the slight rasp of tooth._

_Been thinking about that._

_Thinking about your lips on mine. Soft pressure, hard pressure, slip and glide. Of your tongue in my mouth, stroking mine, and my tongue in yours, and the back-forth in-out of slow, wet kissing getting faster and deeper._

_Been thinking of your throat, pale and soft, skin so smooth, and that spot where the scent of your skin and perfume mix. Been thinking of the heat of your throat on my lips, and feeling your pulse quiver beneath my teeth as I scrape them over your skin._

_Been thinking of your shoulders, and how you moan when I press my thumbs into that spot that gets so sore on the right one. Thinking of that red teddy of yours, and how the one strap always slips off your left shoulder, and how I'll use my teeth to slide the right strap off. _

_The way the lace at the top comes to rest on your nipples. Teasing me with just little glimpses of the pink under the red, and following the strap with my lips, across your arm to the top of the teddy, giving it a gentle tug, and savoring your breasts. _

_Thinking about them a lot today. So soft and round and lovely. Love the way they look, and feel, and smell. Want to spend an hour kissing them, licking all over, making you moan and writhe under my mouth, hands tight in my hair, gasping from the pleasure of it. _

_Then back to your lips, soft, wet, open, lips. Want to feel them wrap around me. Want to see you take me in your beautiful, beautiful mouth, sucking me down, making me feel so good. Want you to get me so wet, and so hard._

_I'll straddle your hips, kissing you hard and deep, and then slip between your breasts, rubbing my hard against your soft, making both of us so happy. Setting my body and yours alight._

_Hope I see you soon._

_Tim_

He hit the send button before he could re-read it, because he knows if he doesn't he'll muck around with it and kill it.

* * *

So, sexy email done, he's sitting there, horny, nervous, jittery, and wondering what on earth to do next. It's barely eight o'clock. She probably won't even get a chance to read it for a few hours. Every other week her parents come to visit and "help" and beg her to move home with them.

She finds the help useful, the begging somewhere between frustrating and infuriating, and while he'll be over tomorrow and the next day, sticking around acting as something of a shield (they don't beg so much when he's around, though they keep staring at him, _you gonna step up and marry her, now that she's broken?_ awfully clear in their eyes), the first night they're in town has been just the three of them, and will likely continue to be so.

So, hours before nervous can end, before he can find out if she even likes the email. Might freak her out or make her sad or…

_Stop that!_

Still horny to go with nervous. Can't write something like that and not get excited. Could take matters into his own hands, but decides to wait for later, he's not too tired yet, and if he waits until bedtime it'll help him sleep better.

Could give Rachel a call and make an appointment. He knows her number, has it in his phone, had to call her to get her to do his paperwork…

But that would mean committing to actually talking about this stuff.

Tony offered to listen… but… Delilah's here and still wants him and… And Ziva's gone, and Tim isn't blind, he saw how Tony fell apart when he came back, how he was falling apart while looking for her. He's never asked what happened with them. He knows.

And for all Tony's offered to listen, he's talking to strangers, not Tim, which makes him think he's not really interested in that sort of closeness. And Tim's not opening himself up to that, not if it's a one way street.

Can't talk to Gibbs. He bought the box and picked out the flowers and laid his girls to rest. He would have given anything to be where Tim is.

He can talk to Abby, but he already knows her advice, go talk to Rachel, which makes sense, she's not a counselor. She can listen, she can be sympathetic, but in that she's just as good at not dealing with things as he is, she's the myopic leading the near blind, and when it comes down to it, just saying it probably isn't enough. There's probably more to it than just saying he's angry.

Probably. But he doesn't know, because he's not a counselor, either.

He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to deal with it. But he dials the phone anyway, because when it comes down to it, he knows himself well enough to know that Abby's right, and the rest of this isn't going to work if he's lugging this much anger and sad and guilt around.

* * *

It's ten thirty when he hears a knock on his door.

"You couldn't call first, Tony?" he mutters under his breath, heading to the door. "What?" he's saying as he swings it open.

"Hi." Delilah is grinning up at him, big, wide smile.

He stares at her, goggling a bit. Then jumps out of the way, holding, the door open for her as she rolls in.

"Hi. I wasn't expecting you…"

He's in his t-shirt and boxers, toothbrush still in hand. He puts that down fast, and shuts the door, relocking it.

"You think you can write an email like that and not get a late night booty call, Timothy McGee?"

"You liked it?" he asks, feeling the smile spread across his face.

"Come here."

He kneels on the floor, right next to her, and she kisses him, long and deep, tongue dancing with his. "Got the email, knew I had to get over here, but wanted to change first, find that teddy. When I was getting out of what I'd had on for dinner with my parents, I noticed I was wet through my panties, through my skirt. Little damp spot on the chair."

That hits him hard, blood rushing to his dick at the idea of her that wet, that slick. She didn't get wet last time, because that's a mind game now, not a physical thing, and they didn't take the time to get the mind game going ahead of time.

"Really?" He's unbuttoning her coat, helping her get free of it.

"Oh yeah." She's got on a little black dress under her coat, and he can see that the left strap of the teddy has already slipped off her shoulder. "Thought, maybe, you'd like a taste."

He groans at that. "God, yes." Then shifts over, kneeling in front of her, folding back the foot rests on the chair, and also the arm rests. She figures out what he's doing, and moves her right leg to the side so he can kneel between them. He gets his hands under her butt, pulling her flush to him, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, and he picks her up, heading to his bed.

* * *

Friday night. Movie night. Work's in the can, and he's driving toward her place.

Her parents have returned home, but he's got the sense her dad's going to look him up for some 'guy time' the next time they're in town. He's not relishing the idea of that. They appear to be having a hard time figuring out if he's still here because he wants to be, or because he feels guilty about leaving, and he can kind of understand why they're worried about that. He completely broke down and then ran off and vanished for thirty hours when they got the news. But that's at least two weeks off, so worrying about it right now isn't a good plan.

They're alone, and since he's not on call, and she's still on sick leave, they'll be alone all weekend.

Lots of time to relax and play and enjoy each other.

* * *

Nine Songs was on Netflix. Uncut 9 ½ Weeks he had to borrow from Tony. (It was also on Abby's hot movie list, and she had an asterisk that indicated that it might be good for getting a conversation about subbing going, too.) So, in one hand he's got take-out Chinese. (They may try going out to a restaurant later, or just eat in. She's still getting used to being out, and being stared at, and all the rest of it. So, he's happy to play it by ear, and honestly, he's never going to have a problem with dinner in. His own introverted personality has no issues with quiet and private.) In the other he's got his keys (one to her place, too) and Tony's DVD.

He heads in and finds her in front of her computer.

"Hey," she says over her shoulder.

He sets the food and movie on her kitchen table, and heads over, leaning down to kiss her, and then looks over her shoulder at her screen.

"Remoting into work?"

"Yeah. Going bonkers just sitting here. Wanna do something useful."

"Cool. How's it going?"

She smiles at him. "The codes are still the same. They don't care if I can stand up or not. That feels really good."

"Great. You want to keep at it? I can toss the food in the oven and amuse myself for a few hours."

"Nah. Let me get to the end of this, and we'll eat."

"Okay. I'll set the table."

* * *

They talk about what she's doing. In a general sort of way. Algorithms, plans, codes. Her clearance is higher than his, so she can't talk specifics, but it's good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, who can, on occasion, take a look at the code and see the bugs that she's blind to because she wrote it in the first place. (She does that for him, too. Both of them find it very useful.)

They talk about her big plan for the weekend, getting a car. Until the accident, she used the metro for basically everything and would just rent one when she needed to get out of the city.

And while the metro is 'disabled friendly' the fact that her apartment is a mile from the nearest stop isn't. (The fact that her job is a quarter mile, and his apartment is three blocks from one is less important, but still matters. Until she builds up a lot more upper body strength, a mile is a very long way to go rolling herself.)

So, she needs to find a car, one that can be modified for hand controls, and one that she can get her chair into and out of easily enough.

Of course, that also means she needs to learn how to get into and out of the chair and into a car. She's been practicing that some in the passenger seat, in his car and her parents', but the acid test is doing it with a steering wheel in the way. After all, it's not like she can stand up, fold up the chair, tuck it into the back seat, and go. He has a feeling she'll be working on that with his car a bit before going out to try out other cars.

Might suggest heading over to Gibbs'. Sure it's not completely private, but he's got a driveway and it's a whole lot less of an audience than she'd get in her parking garage or his.

"You want me to go?" he asks. He hates car shopping, but he'll go along if she wants company.

She shakes her head. "A ride would be great, but I know if you go in there with me, they'll try to sell you a car, and I'll just be a cute little appendage."

"Then I'll chauffer."

* * *

Movie night at his place is in his bedroom. Because that's where his TV is. Movie night at her place is in the living room, because that's where her TV is.

He's thinking maybe grabbing one of their computers and watching in bed, given the kind of movie night this is, might be a good plan, but… there's not really a good vantage point to see from. And her sofa's comfy. Not conveniently located when it comes to lube or condoms, but… he's got pockets. It's not an unsolvable problem.

Not like they've never done it on her sofa before.

He holds up 9 ½ Weeks, and queues up Nine Songs on Netflix. "Lady's choice. Which looks more interesting to you?"

She's reading the description of Nine Songs and says, "I'm going to get to know your co-workers a lot better than I ever intended to."

He laughs. "I was trying not to think about that."

"So, they look interesting and all, but, what about your favorite?"

"My favorite what?" He asks, cagily.

"Hot movie? How about I get to know you a whole lot better?"

"Ergh." He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and forehead.

"Tim?" She's looking at him intensely.

"Don't really have one." He's shaking his head. "What's yours?"

"Wow! That was a fast topic change. You really don't have one? Nothing you've ever seen has made you want to grab the nearest woman and get it on?"

An inarticulate sound echoed out of him.

"Oh, come on, how bad can it be?"

He winces a little and then looks her in the eye. "I… uh…" He licks his lips. "When I want plot, dialog and storyline, I pick one kind of movie, and those usually aren't sexy. And when I want sexy, I usually pick another sort of movie, and those don't have a lot of plot, dialog or storyline."

"'Oh my God, you watch porn! I'm shocked! Shocked!' said no woman ever." He can barely articulate how reassuring he finds that. "What's your favorite? One you go back to most often?"

His eyes go wide, reassuring rapidly skittering away. Nice to know she's not freaked out by the idea of it, but actually watching… "You really want to…"

"Sure. I mean… It's okay, right?"

"I… guess so… Just… you know, lots of women think porn's kind of icky."

She shrugs. "We're both expanding our repertoire. Besides, if it's icky, I'll tell you, and that'll be that. We'll try something else."

"'That'll be that' sometimes means I boot you out of the house and we break up."

Delilah starts to look disturbed. "What the hell are you into? I mean, how kinky is this?"

"It's… not vanilla, but… it's not too far off the beaten track. You'll show me yours, though, right? We see mine; we see yours?"

"Sure. So bring on your smut."

"Okay." He took a minute to get it set up. (Well, technically, it wasn't his favorite, this is in the top five, but is a little less kinky than his favorite.) And once it was, and the video started downloading, he was sort of babbling about how the dialog sucked and the set up was implausible and the acting wasn't great and…

"Shhh… It's porn." Delilah says, putting a finger to his lips. "I've seen porn before. I'm not expecting Hamlet."

There aren't opening credits so much. Mostly just a title sequence. It's an amateur production, which Tim prefers because people who are doing this to get themselves off are actually having fun, and the pros all look sort of bored to him.

But, three seconds in, as the title is just fading off the screen, Delilah pauses the video, and he feels himself tense up. If she can't get through the title, (Naughty School Girl's Surprise, yeah, like he was saying to her, the dialog sucks, the set-up is improbable, the title… blah, blah, blah. It's porn, not Hamlet.) this is not going to work at all.

"Too much?" he says, wincing, waiting for the get-the-hell-out-of-my-house reaction.

"No. Just, porn, not Hamlet. We're both way too dressed for this."

His eyebrows hop up, pleased by that, even more pleased as she begins unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

Okay, sitting on her sofa, both of them naked, her between his legs, her legs draped over his, able to touch and feel her all over him while the naughty school girl gets spanked and then licked, and by that point they were on their sides, him slipping into her from behind while fingering her slow and hard, (Which she said was good, but he doesn't know what good means, and it worries him.) as the principal bent the school girl over the desk and did her steady and hard until they were both gasping and moaning worked… well enough.

Not having a set 'end goal' is still troubling for him. He doesn't know when it's okay to finish. Reading up said that some women with SCI could climax from genital stimulation, even if they didn't have a lot of sensation, and if there's any shot of that, he doesn't want to not get her over the line, but… but they don't yet know if there's any shot of that.

Worrying about it does keep him nicely toned down. Can probably go all night if he can't switch out of that mindset.

But the movie's getting set to end, and it's supposed to get him hot, and hot movie plus her body on his should have a certain result, so he focuses in on how it feels (very, very good) and less on what he's trying to do, and it doesn't take long to get off.

* * *

They're snuggling on the sofa, after. He'd gotten up to deal with the condom, and is now laying on his side, facing her. He's petting her arm and shoulder, running his fingers lightly over her skin, while she strokes his sternum, gently playing with his chest hair.

"We could do that, you know? The spanking stuff. I'd probably be able to feel that, too."

He nods, she probably would.

"Might feel good."

"Might." He's nodding again.

"You don't look really enthusiastic. Why not?"

Good question given this is supposed to be his hot movie. He rubs his face and bites his lip, would probably scoot back a bit, but he's already back against the back of the sofa. "I… um… kinda… prefer to be on the receiving end of things."

"Oh!" That's something that obviously hadn't occurred to her.

"Yeah. I mean, I can do both sides of it, but I like taking a whole lot better than giving. Kind of difficult to get past twenty million years of don't hit girls."

"Huh." She thinks about that for a moment. "Might have to spend a bit working out the mechanics, but I bet I could do that, too."

He's looking a whole lot more enthusiastic now, and also a whole lot nervous. "Would you want to? Like, do you think you might enjoy it, or… or is just something you'd be doing for me?"

"How much of that do you like?"

The movie had been pretty light on the domination and submission thing, but it got the most basic of the ideas across. "I… I like all of it. I like being given orders and then doing exactly what I'm told to do, and doing it very, very well. And I like getting petted for doing it very, very well. I like not being in charge. I mean, not all the time, I like variety and being in control sometimes, too, so it's more of a hobby than a kink, but, I do like it."

She nods a little, fitting that into what she knows about him. "That makes sense. What kind of orders?"

"Whatever you like. Sex, not sex, tell me to put up shelves for you, and I will. Play with me for hours and tell me not to come, and I will. But the rewards part is usually intimate, physical, and not always sex, but almost always some sort of praise and touch."

"Though in the case of not getting off for an hour, you'd prefer a sex reward?"

"Yeah." He nods vigorously. "That long and not getting off starts to hurt. But the sex is just part of the reward, there's usually cuddling and praise and… and it's just really warm and safe and… very nice. I've got better videos to give you an idea of how it works."

"You can be the one in charge, though. It's just not your preference?"

"Yeah, I can."

"Then, how about you show me how it works. Show me what you like. I'll read up on it later."

"Really?" He's never had anyone who wasn't already into this offer to get into it for him. In fact, the few women he'd mentioned it to who weren't already into it more or less ran screaming away.

"Yeah, really. Not like this is anything I've ever given any thought to, but… right now it's sounding awfully good."

"Okay, so this starts with talking. Hard boundaries. Things you will not do. Things I can't ask you for."

"Uh…" Delilah looks startled by that. "What were you going to ask for?"

"Hadn't gotten that far in the plan, yet." The video had ended with anal sex. "Anal?" They hadn't ever done that before.

"Not an issue for me anymore. Might feel good, or at least feel like something, so sure, I'm fine with that."

"How about doing it to me?" They really hadn't done that, or anything at all like it, before.

Her eyes went way, way wide. "Like, with what? A dildo?"

"Do you have one?" he asks, blushing furiously.

"Uh… yeah… Really? You like that?"

"I haven't tried _that._" He answers, not quite looking at her, but he catches her eyes again as he continues, "I was thinking fingers, actually. Prostate play is a lot like getting your g spot and feels pretty awesome with a blow job."

She thinks about that for a few seconds, probably working through it in her mind. "Kind of messy?"

He nods. "Yeah. Kind of. I'd make sure I was clean first, but yeah, especially without the right prep, it can be. And if it's too messy, or you don't like it, that's not a problem. That's why we talk about it first, figure out where the lines are. When you're in charge you do the same for me, find the hard lines and don't step over them."

"What are your hard lines?"

"Don't humiliate me. Don't degrade me. No marks anywhere anyone can see them. Don't gag me. My safeword is Tibbs. I say that, and everything stops. Stop or no, means slow down and check in, make sure I'm still good. Sometimes I'm playing, sometimes it'll mean I got so into it I lost my safeword."

"Tibbs?"

"I can almost always remember it, and it's never, ever going to occur naturally during sex."

"Good point. 'Stop' is my safeword. I say that, we stop."

"Okay. I'll treat 'no' like that, too?"

"Yeah. Don't want to have to remember any sort of code. I say 'no,' you stop."

"Not a problem."

"Why a safeword? Why not just 'no?'"

He licks his lips and sighs a bit. This was the part that tended to freak other women out. "Sometimes being… overpowered… is kind of fun. If you like being out of control," he closes his eyes, hoping this doesn't make her want to run away, "being able to say 'no,' and then having that 'no' be ignored… It's… freeing. It's… ummm… out of your hands then. You've still got your safeword, so it's still a game, but… the illusion of denying consent is powerful."

"If I'm ever looking for that, I'll let you know."

"That works."

"But that's something you like?"

"Sometimes. I spend so much time in my head, thinking through everything, worrying about what people think about what I'm doing, nervous, and… It all goes away. I'm just there, in the moment, completely in my body and out of the part of my head that's so concerned about the rest of the world. Someone else takes the worry and care and concern, and my whole word narrows down to doing what they want, making them happy, and anticipating the reward for doing that.

"People who don't know how it works think it's some sort of rape fantasy. Maybe for some people that's part of it. But for me it's having a very set goal, set rules, and the freedom and release that comes from not being in charge for an hour or two."

She thinks about that for a moment. "Is this something you used to do with Abby?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I think so?"

"Yeah. But it didn't work all that well because she doesn't Dom at all, and I'm a switch, but prefer to sub. I couldn't control her as hard as she liked, and she couldn't run me, period. The illusion doesn't work if the person Doming can't act through that control well enough to be convincing about it. We were both a little too polite, too, is this really okay with you, to keep the image of it going. So, we love each other, always will, but we're not a good match for anything more than close friendship."

"Is close friends all you are?" He's told her that they were lovers once upon a time. He was sort of vague as to when precisely once upon a time was. He doesn't know, what, if anything Abby's said to her about that.

"Now. Last time we got together was 2010, and we hadn't hooked up for a year before that. We were friends with sporadic benefits for almost a decade."

"You two ever going to hook up again?" She sounds a little sharp as she asks that, he can hear the worry in her voice.

He gives her a long look and says, "I'd imagine that would have a whole lot to do with whether or not you intend on dumping me. If you mean, am I going to fool around on you, or go looking for something or someone else, no. I'm more than good here with you. If you mean, should I find myself single again, which I'd rather not be, would we hook up for some comfort sex should something bad happen or celebratory sex should something really good happen, sure. Last time we got together was the day after Mike Franks died. That's our pattern. If we're single and bad stuff happens, we turn to each other for comfort. And sometimes we'd celebrate really good things. And in more than a decade, if one of us is seeing someone else, we've never crossed that line, and we're not going to.

"Abby loves you, too, thinks you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, she's not going to put either of us into a sticky situation, and I'm sure as hell not going to do it, either."

"Abby loves me, too?"

He doesn't understand what precisely she's asking here, so he says, "Of course she does; she loves everyone."

"_Too?_"

And suddenly he knows exactly what she's asking. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"That wasn't how I was planning on saying it."

"Technically, you still haven't said anything," she says, eyebrow high.

He smiles sheepishly. "Thought if I said it this soon after the bombing that you'd think… especially given what we were fighting about right before…"

"What?"

"That'd you'd think it was just fear talking, or guilt. Or that I was just trying to make you feel good. And I wasn't sure if you… Thought I'd wait a bit, make sure things were stable again."

"God, you really do spend too much time in your head," she says with a quick kiss.

He flashes her a _well, that's just who I am_ sort of look.

"So, who else loves me?"

He smiles at her. "I do."

She kisses him gently. "Me, too. So, tell me more about how this works…"


	4. Submission

He stopped on the side of the road in front of Gibbs' house.

Delilah looked at him curiously and a little alarmed. The whole point of this was Gibbs has a driveway, which is not in the open, and sure his neighbors can see, but it's not like either of their parking garages, or like, you know, the street.

"One minute." He left the car running and headed in. Only took a second to find the keys, and then he headed for the driveway, pulled Gibbs' truck out, pulled his car in, and then put the truck back.

"Thought you might like a little more privacy."

She nodded at that, then looks at him, clearly signaling, _and I'd like even more_.

"I'm heading in." He turned and headed into Gibbs' house, tossing his keys back onto the table by his front door.

* * *

"McGee?"

"Boss," he says as he sits on the steps, midway down to the basement.

"Stealing my truck?"

"I put the truck back. I'm stealing your driveway."

"Without asking?"

"Eighteen."

"You asking for forgiveness?"

"Not from you." That got Gibbs' approving look.

"What's up?"

"Delilah's getting a car today or tomorrow. She's practicing getting in and out of the driver's seat. Didn't want an audience."

Gibbs nodded, then got back to working on… Strips of different colored wood, next to each other. To Tim it looked like the first step in a chessboard.

"What is that?"

"Cabin stuff."

"Decide you want more than just a fire place and a sleeping bag?"

He nodded again, looked back up and saw Tim staring in the direction of the windows that offered a view of his driveway, forcing himself not to stand up and look out.

"You okay?"

"If she falls, it'll be really hard to get back up again."

"Her lungs work just fine. She'll yell if she needs something."

"Yeah. I know." He was still making himself not look out that window, making himself not hover or be overly helpful.

"C'mere."

"Boss?"

"Distraction. You ever use a chisel before?"

"Nope."

"You're gonna learn." He showed Tim a series of small teeth carved half way through the edges of the wooden strips. "Hidden dovetail. The piece that goes with it will match this."

"This looks really delicate."

"It is."

"You sure you want me to learn on this, Boss?"

"Not this one." He showed Tim the piece of wood next to it. Instead of teeth cut halfway through the wood, it had a series of small wedge looking pieces cut all the way through. "You're gonna work on that one. Easier to cut all the way through."

"Okay. What do I do?"

Gibbs told him, showed him, and Tim started, slowly, and very deliberately to remove tiny slivers of wood from the board in front of him.

An hour passed, and Gibbs checked in, looking at the very tidy job Tim had done of cutting two dovetails. He nodded at Tim. "Good work."

Tim smiled. "Thanks, Boss." He slowly cut one more. "Besides 'cabin stuff,' what is this?"

"Frame for this." He tapped the piece he's working on.

"I can see that." And having it pointed out, he could. The piece he was working on will, eventually, slot into the other ones.

"Game board," Gibbs said.

"So, you're thinking, eventually, someone else might be in that cabin with you?"

He half-smiled at that and got back to work.

"Checkers or chess?" Tim asked after another half hour (and one more dovetail).

"Either."

"Gonna make the pieces for both?"

"Yeah."

"Used to be good at chess. You know, if you ever wanted to play."

Gibbs looked back up at him, smiled, and nodded. "Should have this done in about four months. Wouldn't have to take it up immediately."

Tim's phone chirped. "Okay, she's done. You wanna come out and say hi?"

"Sure."

* * *

Car shopping post-lunch. And, honestly, he was kind of relieved at the idea of chauffer and just sit in the car. He hated car shopping. He had his own, very streamlined, process of set-up financing, pick out exactly which car he wants, test it out at a few different places, and then tell them exactly what he wanted to pay for said car followed by buying it at whichever place would meet his price, but even with that, it was really uncomfortable and he loathed doing it.

That was probably why, with the exception of Abby who built her car, he went through cars more slowly than anyone else on the team.

He hadn't even gotten really settled in for a good long wait at the first place before Delilah was opening the door again. Maybe ten minutes, possibly twelve, but not more than that had gone by.

She flung the door open, and he could see she was spitting mad and had tears in her eyes.

He hopped up and out, not going to help her get in, even he can read the very clear _don't help me vibe_ coming off of her, but it was easier to stow the chair in the backseat and she can't do that for herself.

"What happened?" he asked, tucking the chair into the back once she's in.

"They wouldn't serve me. Wouldn't look me in the eye. The only one who even said Hello had a customer with him already and the others just ignored me."

He closed his eyes and bit his lip, feeling his own anger rise up. "Want me to go in there and start yelling?"

"No!"

"You wanna go in there and start yelling?"

"I would have done it if I thought it would have helped." She was seething.

"Want me to go in there, look like a customer, see how fast they run over to help me, and then write a really, really nasty review of the place about it?"

That got a small smile out of her. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Yes."

"Back in a few minutes."

* * *

A few minutes was closer to ten. Within thirty seconds of having walked in, he had three people greet him, and one specifically ask what he was in the market for. "Just checking," he'd said.

The saleswoman looked at him curiously when he said that.

"Could I see your manager?"

"About what?"

He flashed his ID quickly. So quickly she couldn't see what it said. "About violating DC's anti-discrimination policies."

It was, however, rather satisfying to see her go completely white when he said that. Apparently she must have noticed Delilah sitting there and then not offered help, otherwise she wouldn't have been so terrified looking.

He texted Delilah while he waited for the manager, letting her know what he was doing. She seemed to approve of the scaring the shit out of the guy technique he wanted to employ.

And, sure, it wouldn't solve the problem, but… It felt good. And the extremely thorough, very demeaning dressing down he gave Mr. James Whimbly, the manager on duty, in which he tossed around words like Class F Felony (no such thing) and Anti-Discrimination Statutes and Class-Action Lawsuit Accountability and other bits of very legal sounding bullshit, while standing less than an inch from Whimbly, looking down into his eyes, and making sure the man knew his place in the universe was lower than the underside of a piece of shit, would have made Gibbs (or any other Marine) proud.

Whimbly was trembling and white as a sheet when he came out to the car to meet with his "partner" from the "DC Anti-Civil Discrimination Task Force."

Delilah rolled down the window, looked at him, and said, "You walked right by me without even glancing in my direction."

Tim shook his head forlornly. "That will have to go into our report." He smiled, very meanly. "Expect a call from my higher ups to discuss the ramifications of failing our spot check, and what sorts of consequences will follow."

Whimby nodded quickly and scuttled away when Delilah rolled the window up on him.

Tim got back in on his side, and she started to laugh.

"That help?" he asked.

"Yeah. It did."

"He actually walk past you?"

"Yes, he did."

"Asshole."

She looked really surprised at that.

"What? He is."

"Well, yes. Just, never heard you say that before."

He shrugged. "Seemed appropriate."

"Yeah. It was."

"So, where to next?"

"Let's see if the Subaru dealer does any better."

* * *

"So, how does the spanking part work?"

They'd talked about subbing yesterday, but this seemed… well, not exactly out of the blue, car was bought, dinner had been eaten, and post-dinner he was supposed to be 'showing her' what he liked, so it's not out of the blue, but… they hadn't been talking about it either.

Of course, not talking about it might have had something to do with having been back in her place literally just long enough to get to her bedroom.

"I get the rules and guidelines and goals and service part… but where the does spanking stuff come in? I mean… do you really like that part, too?"

She was already sitting on the bed, taking her shoes off, as she asked, eyes wide and on him.

So, he hung up his jacket (and hers) and sat next to her, thinking about his answer. "Yes. I do like it, under the right circumstances. Pain, as well as pleasure, makes your body produce endorphins, and if you play it right, and… I guess, if you're wired right for it… a dose of pain at the right time can take you even higher than just pleasure can."

She thought about that, but seemed to be looking for more explanation.

"I don't like going at it cold, though. It's not a good opening gambit for me. Endorphins also lower your ability to feel pain, so that might be why I don't like it until I'm into it. But, yeah, sometimes when I am into it, I like an extra edge.

"Mostly it's the service part. It's… having an expectation of what to do and doing it. Mostly that's enough. Probably been… six, seven years since someone's laid a hand on me like that. But if I'm already hot and revved up, sometimes I want that, and… if I do, I'll signal it, start not obeying orders or doing a shoddy job."

That also got a curious look.

"That's part of how the game works. The person in charge sets goals that the sub wants to rise to, providing pleasure by doing what the Dom wants and doing it well. But the sub isn't at the mercy of the Dom, he's got control of both the safeword, and how he behaves to nudge the play along. Everyone agrees to the hard rules before the game begins. The Dom writes the script, but the sub directs the play. You set the task and the rewards. And when I want the reward I'll do the task perfectly. When what I need is petting and praise, I'll handle whatever it is you give me exactly the way you want it.

"But sometimes I'm feeling cocky and sassy. Sometimes I want to push you some, and so I will. Might talk back, might not do it fast or good enough. And then it's your job to figure out what to do to get me back to where I want to be petted. Sometimes a good spanking is the answer to that.

"Sometimes I switch, sometimes I want to be in charge.

"But mostly it's that I want you to set the goal, so I can do it exactly the way you want it, and then you pet me for doing it. I want the approval. I want to do something you enjoy, something you want, and I want to do it exactly the way you like it, and then I want you to lavish me with affection, sex, and praise because I make you happy."

As he was explaining that, it hits Delilah, this isn't a hobby. This is Tim. This sex part of it might not be something he gets to do very often, but, this… mindset, this is him, all the time, in all ways. This is his life; he needs goals and he needs to meet them, do them perfectly, and get praise and approval for doing it. It's not that sometimes he likes to sub, it's that he is a sub who can occasionally enjoy playing something else.

"That's why you didn't touch me for two months?"

His turn to look curiously. He didn't follow how she got to that question.

"No goal. You didn't know what you were supposed to be doing or how to even try and do it well, so you just stopped."

He half-smiled, looking sheepish, and nodded.

"You needed directions, needed to know what I needed from you…"

"Yes."

"Pleasure. The goal is pleasure. We'll find our way through what all that really means. But for right now the goal is it feels good. And right now, we don't know what my body can do, but I do know I can enjoy your pleasure. You feeling good, naked, hard, eager, focused on you and me, that makes me feel good."

"I can do that."

"The way you look when you get off, the way you get into it, those little gasped breaths, that makes me tingly in all the right places."

"Okay. So, you want to try this? Me in charge, showing you how I like to be treated?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Safewords are no or stop. You say them, the game stops. You don't say them, we keep playing."

"Okay."

He closed his eyes, took a minute to shift into Dom mode, then unbuttoned one more button on his shirt, and carefully rolled up his sleeves, then sat, comfortably, at the foot of her bed, back against the bedpost, eyes trailing slowly up and down her body.

"Take your clothing off."

She smiled and started to unbutton the long flannel shirt she's got on over her leggings…

"Nope. I tell you how to do it, too."

So she stopped, waited.

"Socks and pants first."

She was slightly nervous about that, because there just wasn't a sexy way to do that anymore. And while it was true that he had seen her naked, it was also true that he had always helped her get undressed in the past. But he wasn't making any move to help, and he had told her what to do, so… do it right, do it perfect, make him smile.

Socks were easy enough. Lifting and moving her legs around wasn't difficult, annoying, sure, but it wasn't like it took a ton of effort.

Pants were a different story all-together. She could lift her legs, bend her knees, plant her feet flat on the bed, lay back, and use her abs and what little control she's got of her glutes to lift her hips off the bed and get her butt up enough to get the pants off, but about a third of the times she did that, her feet went skittering off and she fell before she could get the pants over her hips.

The back-up option involves laying on her back and sort of rolling from side to side as she inched the waistband over her hips. She felt about as sexy as a turtle trapped on its back when she does that.

She had already gotten her feet within easy reach to get the socks off, so with a quick little prayer that this would work, she set her legs so her feet were flat on the bed and her knees were up, resting against each other, and began to shimmy out of her leggings.

She didn't feel the touch, but she did feel him move, and noticed that he was holding her ankles, making sure her feet didn't slip out from under her. She appreciated that, and as soon as she had the leggings past her hips, he let go and went back to leaning against the bed post, watching, eagerly as she pulled them down her legs.

Once she got the leggings off, he trailed his fingers up her leg and kissed her knee. "Beautiful. Shirt next, want to see you in your lingerie."

She straightened up, pushing her chest out, pulling her legs next to her, so she's almost kneeling, and asked, "Want me to unbutton it, or just pull it over my head?"

"Mmm…" He seemed to like those options. "Unbutton it. Slow. Tease me."

She already had the top two buttons undone, so she started at the bottom, unbuttoning slowly, draping the shirt so he got a glimpse of panty, little flash of thigh, but not a good look. She stopped with the middle two buttons still done, and then tugged the right shoulder down, curling her arm in, so he could see her bra strap, and just the top of her chest, and then took a minute to stroke her neck and shoulder, fingers trailing over her naked collar bone, and throat.

He got up, and she stopped.

"Didn't say stop. Just moving."

She undid one more button, and moved her arm, letting her shirt fall to the side, left breast visible, as he sat beside her, and began kissing her throat and shoulder.

"Too sexy. Can't not touch," he said between kisses.

She undid the last button, and shrugged the shirt off.

His fingers ghosted over her bra, pretty rose satin edged with gray lace, then slipped down her side to caress the matching bikini panties.

"Watch." He straightened out her legs, spreading them apart, and settled to sit, cross-legged, between them. Then he lifted her ankle to his lips, supporting her leg beneath her knee, too, and started a line of slow, open-mouthed kisses and nibbles up her leg. He knew she couldn't feel it, but he hoped it still looked sexy. Hoped she liked keeping her eyes on him as his lips worshipped their way up her leg.

"Look good?"

"Yeah."

"Want you thinking about how it felt." He licked the inside of her knee, biting lightly. "Want you thinking about how good this feels to me, how soft your skin is on my lips." He eased forward another few inches, inhaling deeply. "How good you smell."

She nodded, propping herself up on her elbows so she can watch easily, enjoying the show, wishing she could feel it to go along with watching it, trying to remember in detail how it felt, the wet of his mouth, scrape of teeth and stubble, hot lips and breath pulling their way up her leg.

He took his time, feasting up her leg, but eventually it wasn't just a show, eventually he kissed the spot where leg became pelvis and she could feel a dull sort of pressure and heat to go with watching.

She could feel his hands slip under her butt, lifting her hips, but couldn't tell if they were above or under her panties. Under, have to be under, because what he did next, licking along the hem of her panties, then taking the edge between his teeth and tugging them off wouldn't have worked if they had been between his hands and her ass.

She watched him shift again, kissing her still covered mound, once again she can feel pressure and heat, but not much beyond that, not much sensation of movement, or wet, but she was watching, enjoying the sight of him mouthing her, his lips massaging hers.

A small moan slipped from her, and he looked up, smiling, then took her panties between his teeth again and tugged them all the way down her legs.

"God, you're luscious like that. All pink and spread for me," he said, sitting at the foot of the bed, caressing the sole of her foot, while looking all over her.

She's not exactly sure what to say to that, but it made her feel good, so she smiled.

"Makes me so hard." He raised up on his knees, stroked himself through his jeans, and her eyes went wide. He'd never done anything like that before, but she's really liking it. Then he crawled up her body, kissed her lips, and her ear, and said, quietly, "Makes me want to flip you over, prop you up, kiss that glorious ass of yours, and drive into you over and over and over."

And inarticulate sound of desire slipped out of her.

"Like that?"

"God, yes."

"Then keep thinking about it. And maybe, if you're good, we'll do that." He pulled away and sat back at the edge of the bed, staring at her, looking his fill, stroking himself slowly through his jeans, making her feel exceptionally naked and very, very desirable.

"You said you had a dildo."

"Yeah."

"Any other toys?"

"A few."

"Okay, where are they?"

"Tim?" She was looking a little alarmed by that, not sure where he was going to go with this.

"You can say no, if you want, anytime, otherwise game's on." She didn't say no, so he asked again. "Where are they?"

"Closet, top shelf, the Neiman Marcus shoebox."

"First rule," he said, reaching up, "these don't live on the top shelf anymore. I want them somewhere you can get to them whenever you want." (He made a quick mental note to grab everything else that was up there, too. Later.)

"Okay."

He took the box, and sat next to her, lifting the top. There was a dildo, glass, not realistic looking at all, but pretty, clear glass with swirls of green and gold, kind of swoopy shape with curves that probably make it easier for g-spot work. He picked it up, realizing this was the first time he'd ever held a dildo, but it wasn't too weird or shocking. It actually felt nicely solid in his hand, had a pleasant sort of weight to it. Probably good for massaging the kinks out of sore muscles, too.

Small bullet vibrator next to it. Larger 'massager' style vibrator next to that.

He handed the dildo, and then both vibrators to her. "I want you to play with them. Want to watch you touch yourself."

"What are you going to do?" She sounded a little nervous and a little excited by that. She'd never done that before. Never even thought of doing that before. But with the way his eyes kept devouring her, the idea of putting on a show seemed awfully good.

"Right now, just watch." He turned away and began rifling through her closet, and then realized he had no idea where what he wanted was. "Where do you keep your scarves?"

"Top drawer, left."

"Good." He headed over and looked though them, finally finding a silk one that looked long enough. Then he returned to the bed, sitting next to her, laying the scarf next to her. One last piece of this. He reached for her bedside table and grabbed the bottle of lube. Then put that next to the toys.

"What do you want me to do?"

He picked up the scarf and gently tied it around her eyes, then kissed her throat lightly, and lips deeply. Pulling back he said, "It's dark, late at night, you're all alone, playing with yourself, finding out what feels good, what you like. Do it however you like, however feels best. Unless you need something you don't have and want to ask for it, I'm not here. Just play. If you can get off, get off, don't wait or deny yourself."

"Why would I?"

"That can be, and often is, part of the control you give to the Dom in this sort of game. Person in charge decides when you get off."

Her eyes were covered so he couldn't really guess what that expression meant, but she settled back against the headboard, felt around for everything, mostly just making sure where it was, and began to play with her fingers.

"If you can't get off, or hit the point where you're done. Stop playing. You're just on your own, having a good time, seeing what you can do with your toys."

He was watching her carefully, making mental notes of everything she was doing. Some of it seemed to be just mapping out her body. What has sensation, what doesn't, what sorts of things she can feel. He wondered if she'd done this on her own, yet. Almost asked, but that would break the illusion of on her own.

Part of the reason for the blindfold was to make sure she felt comfortable. Make it easier to sell the illusion of being on her own. Help her feel less inhibited by his presence. Part of it was allowing him to watch without having to pretend to be turned on by this. Right now, he's learning. The hot-naked-chick-playing-with-herself part of his brain was shut off, (at least as well as he can) and analytical,-learn-how-to-play-her-body,-do-a-good-job-at-this-sex-and-pleasure-thing part was cataloguing what she was doing, watching her face and the rest of her body carefully for reactions.

If they do this again, hot-naked-chick-playing-with-herself will be a big turn on, but right now, it was a lesson in what to do and how.

She kept going back to her nipples and throat, the little spot where her ears blend into her throat gets a lot of attention, too. He had the sense she'd go for her back if she could reach easily, but she can't.

He watched her work her fingers over everything that could feel. Watched her roll and pinch and pull on her pussy, but it didn't seem to have much effect.

She swapped out fingers for the bullet vibrator. But the bullet didn't have enough force. Seemed like it felt good on her nipples, she returned it back there a few times, and licking her lips, she sucked it gently, and seemed to like that, at least it got a smile, but wasn't useful for much below her waist.

The massager seemed to be a different story. She went through the speeds quickly, but stopped at one shy of full force, and left it pressed against her clit and pussy as she went back to playing with her nipples.

He didn't know how well it was working, not sure how close she was, but her chest was flushed, and she was breathing harder, and the part of his brain that was in charge of watching and learning died a few minutes ago, and just-wanna-get-naked-and-fuck-Tim had taken over. He was feeling very turned on just watching and was praying that this could get her off, or at least, felt good enough.

Her mouth opened, and her breathing went from harder to soft, fast panting sounds. He really wanted to lean over and kiss her, lick her throat, drink in her pleasure, but he didn't want to break her rhythm, or distract her, either.

She seemed to be stalling out, stuck there, he could see the tension on her face, the not quite there expression he was familiar with.

"Can you give me some help with leverage?" she asked after another frustrated minute.

"What do you want?"

"Few more inches of clearance."

He took the blindfold off, talking to someone wearing one feels weird. "Clearance how?"

She thought about it. "You behind me, legs spread, me on your lap, legs spread over yours; that should give me a few inches."

"I can do that." He started to shuffle behind her, but realized he wouldn't be able to see anymore. So he got up and grabbed the mirror off her dresser, propping it between the mattress and the footboard on the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Like I said, I want to watch." Then he refastened the blindfold over her eyes, and settled in behind her.

"You're staying dressed?"

He took his shirt off.

"Pants?"

"Staying on for now." He lifted her onto his lap, rearranging her legs over his. She felt around for a minute seeing how much space she had, and where everything was.

"Better. Willing to be an extra hand for me, too?"

"Sure."

She got the vibrator back to where she wanted it, and said, "Hold this here."

He nodded, watching in the mirror, her body spread open, toy buzzing away, and kissed her throat, where it met her ear, where she'd been playing with it, and gave it a soft suck and a tender nibble, enjoying the moan that got quite a bit.

He saw her using her fingers to check, see if she's wet. Apparently not, or not enough. She felt around for the lube, and the dildo, slicking it up, then used her fingers to find where it went, and slipped it in. He didn't groan at that, wanted to, really wanted to, watching this was so hot it would burn him, but it was late, she was alone, and yeah, he was providing some help, but he was also trying not to break the illusion of playing and learning how to play. So he bit his lip, hard, and felt very grateful that he kept his pants on.

She had one hand stroking, rubbing, and pulling her nipple, the other was grinding the dildo, long, deep strokes interspersed with sort of circular motions he thought were aimed at her g-spot. He'll ask if she can feel that later, but she kept going back to it, so he assumed there had to be some level of sensation there.

The pink in her chest and cheeks came back up again, and he could feel her breathing faster, moving faster again. He kept forcing his own muscles to relax, he was tensing along with her arousal, wanting to be part of it, feeding off of it. But he was just furniture right now, so he made himself stay relaxed.

Her jaw clenched, and she was doing that little panting uh… uh… uh… breath that usually means impending orgasm, then her shoulders and arms twitched, upper body jerking, followed by, "Oh!"

"Oh?" he asked, taking the blindfold off a few seconds later as she lazed against his chest.

"Think I got off," she said with a wide grin, snuggling into him, putting the toys down. Which reminded him he was just holding the vibrator in place, so he shut it off and laid it beside them.

_Tell me more_ was loud and clear on his face, as he slipped both of her legs over his left leg, so she was leaning, side against his chest, his arms wrapped around her, back against his bent right leg, and her head on his shoulder.

"Doesn't feel the same. None of the motion or tension. And it's not as intense, didn't feel it all over, but nice sort of tingle and rush, and, I'm feeling pretty happy and relaxed so…"

He was grinning so wide he felt like he couldn't contain the happy.

"We'll put it in the win column and do the happy dance—"

She saw his face crash as soon as he realized he said it, and tried to joke about it. "This was your evil plan all along. You knew once you said yes to that reception, eventually I'd get you dancing."

He half-smiled but his voice was sharp. "Yep. Planned a bombing that killed six people to get out of dancing. You've got me cold."

"Too soon?"

"Yeah." He kissed her. Holding her close for a few minutes, letting her just relax against him.

After another minute, she kissed his chest. "Would have liked to see you dance."

"I'm bad at it."

"Me too. I mean… I was."

"You get a hankering, you can ask," he said quietly, lips against her forehead. Then he pulled back to look her in the eyes, feeling nervous about granting that. "I mean, not in public, I'll safeword out of that, because I look dumb as hell dancing, but… you wanna see, just ask."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I pick the music, though, and if you laugh too hard, and I'll safeword out… Or… maybe… give me enough time at the gym, so I can hold you up for a few minutes easily, and we'll dance together. It'll have to be slow, but…"

She kissed him, then wiggled a little against him, but the part of her that's pressed into his crotch, her hip, can't feel well enough to tell if he's still hard, or wet for that matter. "You're not done, too, are you?"

He laughed. "I really, really liked watching that, but no, I'm not done, too. Give me a minute, make sure I'm all cleaned up, and we'll get to me."

"Anything you want me to do while I wait?"

"Take your bra off and get comfy."

"Yes, sir."

He was halfway out of the bed when she said that, but it stopped him. "I like that."

"Calling you sir?"

"Yeah. Don't have to do it or anything, but, it feels good."

"I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

One of the things you learn if you're the kind of guy who reads women's magazines is that women are significantly more sensitive to smell than guys are, way more easily turned off by what they consider 'bad smells,' and that if you ever want a very thorough, very detailed, very lavish blow job, then making sure your junk doesn't smell like, well, junk, is a very good plan.

Granted, they also generally don't want you tasting like soap, so a thorough rinsing off is a good plan, too.

And sure, he's not Tony, he hasn't slept with three quarters of the eastern seaboard, but still, so far, no woman has ever complained about him taking a moment to make sure he smells and tastes good.

And he's thinking that's unlikely to change, because while it's true he hasn't done a massive survey or anything, he's fairly certain ball sweat and stale pee are not aromas most women find enticing.

* * *

"You stay dressed?" Delilah asked when he stepped out of her bathroom five minutes later, all washed and dried off.

"For now."

"Why?"

He cocked his head to the side. "I think you're missing the idea of which one of us is in charge."

"I'm not allowed to ask questions?"

"You can, but… Like I said, I'm not good at this part of it. If this is you being sassy to push me… I'm sorry, I don't really read this side of it well enough to know what you want."

"No. Not trying to be sassy. Just curious. So, when I'm in charge…"

"Unless I don't understand what you want me to do, like leverage, I don't ask questions. I just do it."

"Oh."

"But me not asking doesn't mean you can't. Especially if we're learning how to play."

"So why are you keeping your pants on?"

"So you can take them off."

"Oh." She looked pleased by that idea.

"Yeah."

He patted the edge of her bed. "Want you here."

Between the two of them, they got her seated on the side of the bed.

He stood in front of her, seeing her looking up at him, licking her lips, and once again took a moment to close his eyes and get into it. Two deep, calm, steady breaths.

"Part of the game… Part that I really like, anyway, is verbal. I like being told what to do. I like hearing words." Another deep breath to get himself able to say things like this.

"I want you to blow me. We're gonna do it slow and steady and all over and wet and good. But one of my hard lines is don't gag me, because you can't safeword if you've got something shoved in your mouth. So, if you don't like anything I ask for, don't want to do it, it isn't comfortable, whatever, and…" he closed his eyes, and opened them slowly… exhaling again, "And my dick's in your mouth, just tap the back of my knee twice, okay?"

"Okay."

"Too deep, too fast, too hard, jaw gets sore, give me a little tap, I'll step back and we'll re-adjust."

"Okay." She was looking pretty eager, so he licked his lips, straightened up, and got ready to run it, then remembered one last thing.

"Gonna want to come in your mouth."

"It's okay, really."

"Really?" Not that they've never had oral sex before, but before, it's been foreplay. He's never finished with her mouth.

"Yeah, really. If it was a problem, I would have said so when we were setting up my hard lines."

"Good." He smiled. "Undo my belt." And she did, keeping up eye contact with him, smiling, as she fed the tongue through the buckle. She didn't take it off, because he didn't ask her to, and he smiled at that, bending down to kiss her.

"Want you to stroke me through my pants, both hands…" he sighed quietly as she did, rocking into the pressure of her hands slipping up and down on him. Between her getting off and the quick wash he gave himself, he was already rock hard, and the friction from her hands felt amazing.

"Squeeze my balls, gently, and kiss it, open mouth, want to feel the heat and moisture through my pants." She did, mouthing him through his jeans. He watched, tangling his hands in her hair, enjoying it. "Looks so good… feels better."

He popped the button on his jeans, and then put her hand on the zipper. "Undo it."

She did, pulling back, grinning up at him, and he might have said something about not having told her to stop kissing him, but honestly, he's enjoying the way she's looking up at him too much to do anything about it. When the zipper was all the way down, she stopped, waiting, looking expectantly at him.

"Take it out, careful with the teeth on the zipper."

Delilah hesitated, and then tugged his jeans down a bit further, looking up with a question on her face. He nodded, that was fine. Actually that was more than fine, no fear of getting snagged in the zipper if it's around his hips.

He'd already taken his boxers off. Normally he prefers some sort of underwear, (the whole commando thing just sounds kind of… well, floppy, and not in a good way, as well as sort of rough) but if he's only going to have his pants on for five minutes, and if getting out of his boxers might prove awkward, he's fine with having taken them off earlier.

"Lick it. Let me see your lips and tongue working me."

She slipped her tongue, wet and slick and so pink over her lips in a long, slow lick, and then took him in hand.

"No hands. Hands come later. Just lick."

So she let go, pulled him a bit closer, and started with long slow strokes up the underside of his dick. He closed his eyes and just felt it, soft, wet tongue, hot breath, the way she'd balance the tip of him on her tongue before just flicking it off. "So good."

"Get it wet, really wet. Don't worry about pretty or dainty. Every man on earth likes watching a blow job, no matter how messy it is. In fact, messier the better is usually just about right for this."

She licked over the underside, and both sides, but couldn't get the top without her hands.

"One hand, just for access. Firm hold, at the bottom. Don't stroke with it, just hold." She did, pulling him down a bit so she could lick the top side, and then aim him down a bit so she could get the tip and rub her tongue all over it. "You are so good at that."

She began circling the tip with her tongue as he watched. "God, that looks so good." He could feel her breath against the head of his dick, hot, dry bursts against the wet, slippery head. "Oh…" he exhaled, softly, enjoying it.

"Take it in your mouth. As deep as feels good…" She didn't deep throat him, and he doesn't need that. This is good. This is beyond good. "Oh… yeah, like that. Keep your tongue moving as you slide up and down… Oh… God, yes… that's perfect."

His hips started to roll along with her mouth. "Use your hands as a buffer, don't let me go deeper than you like. Don't let me choke you.

"Mouth counter point to my hips…" she closed against him as he thrust in and pulled back as he did. "Oh… just like that, baby… just like that. Hands too, slide them with your mouth… God, so wet…" He bit his lip, mouth is good, mouth is soft and wet and silky, mouth and hands is better, soft, wet, silky, tighter, more friction.

"So good. Feels so good." He started to move faster, thrusting into her. "Suck harder, squeeze tighter." She did both. His hands curled into fists. "Oh, God, baby…God…fu… God," he was panting each sound between harsh breaths, feeling his body slip toward coming, but he wasn't done, not yet.

"Stop."

She was looking up at him, very concerned. "Stop?" she asked when he stepped back.

He needed a few seconds to get his breath back and brain together. "Don't want to get off, yet, and that was too good." He licked his lips, kneeling in front of her, kissing her softly, tasting the faint traces of his precum on her lips.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Why not get off now?"

"Because unless your jaw is getting sore, this is just the beginning. Want you to touch, lick, suck, everything. That gorgeous mouth of yours is going to take me so high." He shucked off his jeans and stood before her again. "Good to go?"

She nodded and this time he stepped even closer, straddling her legs.

"One hand on my balls. Gentle. Stroke, or tug…" he jumped a little when she tugged more sharply than he liked. "Little softer than that…" She did it again, gentle downward pressure. "Oh… yeah… that's right, just… So good." He could feel himself ramping back up again, fast. That break walked him back from the edge, but it won't take long to get back there.

"Now, mouth on my balls, hand on my dick. Oh… feels so good…" His hand closed over hers, guiding it. "Slow, all the way up and down, don't wanna come yet." Her tongue laved all over him. "Oh… shit… your tongue is amazing. God, yeah, licking like that…" God that felt good, he could feel his balls crawling up, feel himself getting closer. "Just… suck one…" All wet and hot and so good wrapped around him. "Gentle… ohhh." That felt amazing and pulled them back down again, lessening the need to get off right this second. Another soft, wet, suck while her tongue slipped over him. "God…" slid from between his lips in a hot breath.

He widened his stance, spreading his legs, and reached for the lube. For a moment he just held it, feeling her mouth on him, losing himself in the pleasure of that.

He took her right hand in his, and dribbled the lube over her index finger and palm, then guided it to where he wanted it. "One finger. Lots of lube… Just… yeah…oh… just rub it around like that for a bit…" He rocked against her hand, feeling her skin slipping over his. "Oh… perfect… just… oh… feel so good like that, all slick and hot…" He nudged her hand forward, to right behind his balls. "Press right there. Knuckles…" Pressure on his perineum made his gasp as she mouthed his balls. He breathed hard, riding that sensation, letting it flow over him in gentle pulses of pleasure.

"Mouth back on my dick, just sucking the tip," and she did, wet, little sucks that were driving him crazy. He slipped her fingers back again. "God, baby… Ease your finger in, slow, gentle, steady pressure and my body'll just take it…" And it did. He relaxed into it, and felt her finger slip in. "Yeah…oh… bit deeper, and curl it forward, gentle, just… oh…fu- oh…" She got it, finger pressing gently, adding that cumming/pulse sensation to the delight of her wet, sucking mouth. "That's just it. Just like that baby. Just… Press every time you suck… Ohhh…" Long, low exhale, his knees and thighs went tense, and his hands started to curl into fists.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to talk all that much longer. "All the way up, all the way down, suck on the upswing, press on down… hand and mouth together."

And she did. "Oh god… just like… yeah… Oh god…" She sped up a bit, and he knew he was going to come. "Wanna see you swallow… oh… oh…" His face and jaw went tight as the tingles started to arc through him and he felt the first pulse. "Fuck! Oh FUCK!" he gasped out as his body started to spasm and the lights went white behind his eyes.

"Oh… God… That was awesome!" he got out a few seconds later, still breathing hard, panting between words as she swallowed one last time and gave him a gentle suck.

Her lips slipped off of him, and she gave him one last lick, then smiled up at him. "Yeah, that was."

After another minutes, when it felt like his knees would work again, he left for a second, quickly tidying himself up, and grabbing a wet towel for her, as well a glass of water and some gum. (He's not sure if she wants the taste of his cum in her mouth.)

He carefully cleaned off both of her hands, and offered the water and gum, but she shook her head on both of them, so he curled around her, holding her close, kissing her forehead and lips, petting her arms and back.

"That felt so amazing. The color dropped out of my vision at the end. Felt like my whole body got off. God, you are so good at that." He kisses her lips, then deepens the kiss, taking himself on her. "Most beautiful, talented mouth ever." Another kiss. "Really, awesome, like religious experience, awesome."

She smiled, beaming at the praise and the control. "I really liked that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So… if I was running things…"

"Tell me what you want. It's my job to do it, make you happy. If you think I'm fun in charge… I'm a lot more me when I'm not."

"I get that. But if I want that again? Want you to talk me through it, hear your voice fall apart… I mean, you said fuck… I've never heard you say fuck… that was so hot."

He squeezed her a little tighter, bit the shell of her ear gently, and whispered, "Fuck."

"Oh…"

A light lick. "If you want it, you just have to ask. Set me a task, and I'll rise to it."

"Pun intended?"

He laughed at that. "Sure, but probably not for an hour or so."

She kissed him, and he kissed back, gently. "You are so beautiful, Delilah." He kissed each eyelid. "Beautiful eyes." And her nose. "Beautiful nose." And lips. "Most beautiful, perfect," he bit gently on her lower lip, "most scorching hot, blinding hot, ecstasy hot, mouth."

She stretched a little, and he nuzzled her neck, stroking his fingers through her hair. "I love you, and I love this, and I love your body on mine, and mine on yours, and I love how you make me feel. And I want to make you feel as good as you make me."

"I think I like this post-sex petting thing."

"Like I said, it's very safe and warm and intimate and nice."

"And I can ask for this, too?"

"Yep. Right now, this is just nice, it's warm and happy, and we're both really good. But subbing can be really intense. Like, when we can reliably get you off, I might take over one night and keep you on edge for as long as you can take it. Get you a millimeter away from climaxing and keep you there, make you beg to climax, make you need it, so that when you do get off, your whole body shakes and you come screaming. And like I said, that's intense and vulnerable and really naked and… and this after bit, this is even more important then. It's a space to get yourself back to yourself, to be assured of your value and how much the Dom adores you. It's called aftercare and making sure you leave good, happy, well taken care of, is the mark of a good Dom."

"You want me to do that to you?"

"Eventually. If you like it. If it's fun. When you know my body well enough to do it. Then yes, I'd like you to run me. Control every aspect of it. Not every single time. Sometimes I want to be in charge, and sometimes just straight sex is fun, but… yeah, sometimes I need this. Want it."

"What did you do all those years you were single and needed this?"

"I'm very, very good at my job. Sometimes I get petted for that. It's… enough."

"Really?"

He shrugged. "Better than nothing. Never been… comfortable enough in this to let a stranger do it, so I don't like the club/internet scene. Just because you need something doesn't mean you can get it. So, you make do with the best available alternatives. For me that's the occasional good job at work and my fan mail."

"If… if the bombing hadn't happened and sex didn't need to get redefined… would you have ever told me about this?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Last two women I got comfortable enough with to tell, who weren't already into it, left. I think they found the idea of it deeply disconcerting." He shrugged again, half smiled. "I'm not supposed to be the one who submits."

"So, you would have just made do with knowing that I liked orgasms and trying to get me off as well as you could?"

He nodded.

"Is that part of you pushing me away, not wanting me constantly in your stuff or space? Afraid I'd figure it out and get scared?"

"Not on a conscious level, but yeah, that was probably there."

She snuggled in closer to him, wishing it were easy to rearrange themselves, so she could be on the outside, holding him. "I'm not scared, not freaked out, and I'm not going anywhere because of this."

He leaned down and kissed her. "Good." He closed his eyes and bit his lips, and she could tell he was feeling very emotional about it, but didn't want to let it go. But his voice did shake a little when he said, "Really good."


End file.
